JARED

I ignored the tray of stale cookies as I reached for a mug and poured old, lukewarm coffee into it while the other teachers were chatting cheerfully in the lounge before classes. I needed every bit of strength I could muster. If I could just quickly get my coffee and slip back out into the hall—

“Ah, Mr. Nolan!”

I jumped as a hand clamped down on my shoulder. My coffee sloshed over the brim of the mug, dripping onto the counter. Quickly, I tore off a sheet of paper towel, sopping up the mess. “M-Mr. McMillan. Good morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear boy, I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“I-It’s okay!” I said nervously as I brushed a hand over my sweater vest, looking down to see if it had spilled on me. Safe, I thought, relieved I wouldn’t start the day with a large stain on my chest. No doubt the many tiny humans would have pointed it out throughout the day.

There was a deep laugh as the large, round man with a balding head gave me an arrogant stare. “Someone’s nervous this morning! Not that I blame you. I hear that you have your work cut out for you today! Hope you don’t have any trouble with the transfer student. Sounds like she’s going to be quite the handful,” he said, smirking as he eyed me with a raised brow.

I pushed my glasses up my slightly hooked nose, brushing long, dark locks out of my eyes. Annoyance ate at my calm, polite demeanor. “I’m sure I can handle it. Thank you, Mr. McMillan.”

I just wanted to get to my classroom.

After a few painful moments of listening to the man talk down at me—and my willpower constantly being tested—I managed to excuse myself, escaping from the toxic atmosphere that was the teacher’s lounge. I sighed, holding my coffee mug carefully as I walked towards the classroom, files and color-coded folders tucked neatly under my arm.

Away from the judgment and vibrant complaints of the other teachers, I could focus my attention on preparing for five-year-old Maya Hayes.

Hayes… I pushed the thought away. It was such a common last name, and it wasn’t the name that mattered; it was the fact that at such a young age this little girl had gone through the trauma of losing her mother—and after such a short time…

I unlocked the classroom door, walked over to my desk, and placed down the files. I sighed, looking around the room. I had done my best to make it a fun learning environment for the students. There was a small, artificial campfire and pillow-like faux marshmallows under a large plastic tree. The art station was stocked with washable markers, crayons, and construction paper. There were children’s chairs and tables arranged precisely around the room and large bins of building blocks at the back near the cubbies.

While I usually spent over an hour each night tidying, I knew that as soon as the national anthem finished, all my efforts at an orderly classroom would be undone within seconds.

I removed a black permanent marker from the top drawer of my desk, as well as a large rectangular sticker that was covered in holographic butterflies. ‘MAYA,’ I wrote, carrying it over to the cubbies. I pressed it over the top of an empty cubby, smiling at it, hoping that it would be welcoming.

I spent the rest of my morning going over my plans and organizing the daily activities. It will be fine, I told myself nervously, checking the large clock above the door. Though I’d been a teacher for several years now, never had I had the challenge of teaching someone like Maya. And I wanted to be my best for her.

With a deep breath, I rose from my desk and opened the door before waiting next to it.

As the front doors to the school opened I laughed, hearing the excited screams over the stampede of winter boots and the rustling of jackets.

“No running!” I shouted, seeing most of the children immediately slow their pace and walk over to the classroom. Some, however, continued to barrel down the hall, too excited to listen.

“Morning, Mistah Nolan!” a small, dark-haired girl said as she rushed past me in a whirlwind to her cubby.

“Good morning, Leah— Hey! Inside footsteps!” I called, watching twenty-two little ones swarm to their cubbies and tear off their jackets eagerly. I suddenly felt incredibly outnumbered and was thankful that, for the most part, they seemed to like me well enough not to turn on me.

As I picked up the attendance sheet, looking over it, I waited for the students to settle in their seats. I glanced at the door anxiously; there was no new shy face, no small footsteps.

I peered out into the hall. As I scanned it, looking towards the office, I was able to catch a glimpse of a small auburn-haired girl standing with a tall man. They were half-concealed behind posters plastered over the glass front, but I would give anything to bet that little girl was my missing Maya Hayes.

After taking attendance, I heard a small knock on the open door. I looked over, seeing the bright-eyed, shy face of the small girl from the office. “All right, everyone, quiet coloring time for a moment,” I said, knowing that there was no way for coloring time to quench the curiosity of the tiny humans.

I walked over to where the girl stood in the hall, kneeling in front of her. “Are you Miss Maya?” I asked, making sure to keep my voice calm and gentle, smiling as softly as I could.

She looked upset and nervous, something common for young children on their first day at school. She nodded, not saying anything.

I smiled a little more, trying to be encouraging. “Well, welcome, Maya. My name is Mr. Nolan. I have a special cubby in the back just for you. It even has your name on it,” I said, trying to encourage her.

Her eyes brightened for a moment, thin brows furrowing as she peered into the classroom, seeing the rowdy group of students picking over drawing supplies, most whispering and glancing at the ‘new girl’.

“It’s okay,” I said, gesturing to the classroom. “It’s a little loud, but that’s because everyone is excited to meet you. Can I introduce you?” I hoped asking for her permission would make her feel less awkward.

She shook her head.

“No? You don’t want to say hi to everyone? Just for a minute?”

Another shake, more defiant this time.

I thought for a moment, seeing the students start to take more interest, abandoning the war over markers.

“Do you want to see your cubby?” I asked. “I can show it to you right after we say hi.”

She thought about it for a moment, finally giving one strong nod.

“Okay, we’ll do it together.” Standing, I outstretched my hand for her to take.

Her grip was so small and hesitant as I guided her into the room. I stood with her in front of the class, saying loudly, “Okay, quiet down, everyone! We have a new friend here. Can we all say ‘Hello, Maya’?”

There was an off-pitch chorus of “Hello, Mayaaaa!”

Maya hid behind my leg, squeezing my hand tightly. It broke my heart a little.

This wasn’t just Maya’s first day at school. I had read the file and seen how many times she’d been passed over to different teachers. No one had wanted to give her the time and attention she needed to work through the awful grief she must have been feeling.

Today, making sure Maya felt comfortable and welcome would be my number one priority.

***

Throughout story time, introduction to colors, and playing with blocks, Maya sat alone.

Worry ate away at me as I saw how she ignored the other children, busying herself in her own tiny bubble that shut out the other children’s cheerful learning time. After several attempts at checking in with her, offering a snack, and helping her with her coloring sheet, I decided to let her be for the rest of the day.

I watched her, making notes of when she’d look over interestedly at what other children were doing, what she wanted to draw or play with. I wanted to gain any insight I could on how to find a way to make her comfortable enough to at least entertain the idea of participating.

As I studied her expressions, the way her eyes lit up at the mention of puppies and her interest in learning the alphabet, there was a kind of familiarity that her mannerisms brought. I looked away for a moment, thinking about her last name. It was too familiar, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance…

The end-of-the-day bell rang, startling me out of the thought. Students dropped whatever they were playing with, grabbing their supplies, and rushing for their bags. “Excuse me!” I called, clapping my hands. I gestured to their workstations, raising my brows and tittering. My serious expression caused a bashful giggle out of everyone but Maya. “Time to sing the clean-up song! Are you ready? One… Two… Three…”

When everyone had finished tidying, backpacks were zipped, and jackets were buttoned, I led the class outside to where eager parents and guardians were waiting. There were a few exchanges as parents checked in and collected their children. After watching and waiting for everyone to be picked up, only Maya was left. She clung to my work pants, looking around the emptying schoolyard.

I looked down at her, realizing that her father wasn’t here yet. It was cold and getting dark quickly with thick, gray clouds over the sky. “Hey, let’s go inside and wait for your dad,” I said, offering her my hand instead of my pant leg.

She took it quickly, sniffing. “What if he doesn’t come?” she whispered.

It was the first time I had heard her voice, heard her say anything at all. “Of course he will! I’m sure he’s just a little late,” I said, jiggling her hand a little for reassurance. “Why don’t we draw him a nice picture for when he picks you up? I’ll even let you use my sticker booklet.”

The offer seemed to put the tears on hold as we entered the classroom. I helped her back out of her coat, getting her seated with paper and crayons. “Now this is super-secret extra special, okay?” I grinned, hiding the sticker book behind my back.

She nodded, trying to sneak a peek around me.

I plopped it down in front of her—five-hundred pages of sparkled, textured, scratch-and-sniff, and glow in the dark stickers. “It’s all yours. Use as many as you want!”

I could see her joy as she flipped through the pages. She didn’t look at me as she muttered, “Thank you, Mistah Nowan.”

I beamed at her, my spirits lifting in victory. “You’re welcome, Maya,” I said, trying not to let my excitement seep into my words; I didn’t want to risk ruining this step forward. After tidying the classroom properly, and organizing my files, I sat down beside Maya, privileged to have her tell me that she much preferred the glow-in-the-dark stickers to the textured ones.

As she cupped her hands around them, making sure they glowed, I could hear heavy bounding footsteps down the hall. I pushed myself off the ground, standing as I readied myself to talk with Maya’s father.

A tall, blond man entered the room without knocking, looking frantic in a tailored suit and tie.

“Daddy!” Maya exclaimed with glee, the first real sign of enthusiastic happiness I had seen all day.

He grinned in relief as Maya ran to him, her small, bounding footsteps ending in a giant hug.

My heart skipped a beat as his hazel eyes looked up at me through his windswept hair. He looked just as surprised as I felt, a blush filling my cheeks against my will. “Hey,” I breathed, completely stunned. It was informal and unprofessional…it had been so many years since I’d seen him. Remembering him like no time had passed, I let his name fall from my lips, “Simon.”